


the woods

by goldearring (leoandsnake)



Series: 28/29 [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Cuddling, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Drinking, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Hair Pulling, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mdma, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, almost getting caught with a boner, bossy bottom louis, hiatus blues, oli shows up just to take louis' shoes off for him, self-medicating with alcohol, service top liam, tipsy sex, what happens in mexico stays in mexico
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandsnake/pseuds/goldearring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis thinks about all of this in the span of a few seconds, and heat rises in his cheeks. He wants to put his mouth on Liam's. He wants to feel him open up and fall apart underneath him like a blooming lily. He wants Liam to do with his body whatever he likes; he knows, looking at Liam's flushed face and dark eyes, that there are things Liam wants to do with his body.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the woods

_September 15, 2015 in Montreal, CA_

 

“Liam…”

Liam stirs in his bed, bewildered and dazed with sleep. Someone turns his light on, and he squeezes his eyes shut and groans.

“What,” he murmurs, “what, what’s going on --”

“Sorry, sorry.”

It’s Louis’ soft voice. His speech is slurred like he’s drunk. Liam rolls over and opens his eyes in a tight squint, shielding his face with his forearm. “What’s wrong?” he says groggily.

Louis flips the light back off and Liam sags back against his pillow in relief. He hears Louis crashing around in the hotel room, staggering to and fro as he pulls his shoes off and then his jeans as well.

“I’m comin’ in your bed,” Louis declares. He staggers left and sits hard on the edge of the bed. His small body is trembling with frenetic energy; he seems like he's about to crash at any moment.

Liam rubs at his eyes. He’s well awake now, and he’d rather not be. It’s been a long day. The tour has really begun to drag on in these late months, and he was arguing on the phone with Sophia earlier.

“Thought you were out,” he says.

“I was out,” Louis affirms. “Now, I am no longer out. I’m in.”

“Right, well, if you’re going to sleep here, get on with it,” Liam says, running his hand through his hair. He’s not actually very annoyed -- in fact, the desperate, pathetic little part of him that hates sleeping alone is thrilled to see Louis -- but he has to at least pretend to discourage this sort of behavior.

“Coming, Payno,” Louis says, and he pulls his shirt off as well before he gets under the covers. His bare skin brushes against Liam’s, and Liam’s stomach jolts.

Flustered, Liam says, “You’ve got to take your shirt off?”

“It's hot. You haven’t got _yours_ on,” Louis points out.

“Right, well, it’s _my_ bed.”

“Fussy,” Louis murmurs.

He slides closer to Liam. Their legs touch. Louis makes a happy noise low in his throat and buries his face against Liam’s chest needily. Liam tenses up. His neck hair is standing on end, he can feel it.

“Louis,” he says quietly.

“I’m high,” Louis chirps from under the comforter.

“I know you are, lad.”

“So let’s cuddle.”

“We don’t cuddle like this, do we?” Liam says. He keeps thinking of Sophia; his mind flashes her face.

“Yes, we do,” Louis protests.

“Well -- fine, but I had already got all comfortable here,” Liam says, defensive.

“I came back,” Louis says, his voice high and sweet and childlike. “I got sad, and a bit bored, and I was thinking, like, where do I want to be right now? And it was hanging here, with you. So I came back.”

“What, no girls at the club? Go to a gay one by accident again?”

Louis laughs. His hot breath tickles Liam’s chest hair and Liam feels a hot, foreboding pulse in his stomach. He’s been lacking for real intimacy lately, and he’s aching for Louis to touch him more. He wonders if it would be strange for them to have a hug without their shirts on, in bed like this.

“There were girls,” Louis says.

“And? Struck out?”

“They were boring.” Louis strokes Liam’s waist with his hands. “All of ‘em.”

“Okay,” Liam says, wanting to hurry this conversation along. “Let’s sleep, then.”

“So obsessed with sleep, this one!”

“You’re tired and punchy, and we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

Louis sighs. “Can you just --”

He slides upward on the bed so his face is against the crook of Liam’s neck. Liam immediately wraps his arms around him, like he's just been given permission to do so. The weight and warmth of him feels preternaturally _right_. Liam feels an ache in his chest he can’t place, and he tries to convince himself that it must be a symptom of his worry for Louis’ wellbeing.

“That’s it,” Louis murmurs. Liam feels the vibrations of Louis’ throat against his collarbone. “That’s all I wanted, lad.”

“Could have just asked,” Liam says. He has a passing urge to stroke Louis’ soft hair, and thinks better of it. He expects it wouldn’t come off as brotherly as he would intend it to.

“I should have, you’re right. You’re a bit dense.”

“Am not,” Liam protests. He can’t keep his eyes open, and he’s finding it harder to process what Louis is saying.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s waking with the Canadian sunrise.

Louis has rolled away from him and is sleeping on his stomach with his arms tucked up underneath him, hair mussed.

Liam has uncomfortable morning wood. He gets up to shower and rubs one out as he does, thinking determinedly of nothing at all.

 

 

***

 

Of the two of them, Louis is quicker to figure it out. He usually is.

He knew they'd been flirting like mad, and that was fine. Louis is a dyed-in-the-wool flirt, and it doesn't have to _mean_ anything.

This is different, though. He usually flirts out of fondness, or as a laugh, or as a way of making people uncomfortable. His own power always rests behind it; he can turn it on and off as he pleases to suit his needs.

He finds himself flirting with Liam like he flirts with women he's attracted to, which is to say he does it without thinking or without a pretext. He flirts with Liam easily, and when Liam flirts back he doesn't feel like he's _won,_ or get a laddy sense of banter. He feels off-center and like someone's stolen the rug out from underneath him. He gets short of breath and excited, flush with curiosity.

The more Liam does it, the more Louis wants him to do it. The more they touch, the more Louis wants them to. Louis starts to encourage him, mostly during shows. He takes advantage of even the flimsiest opportunities to touch Liam, and Liam happily reciprocates. They touch unnecessarily all over the place: all over the stage, on the bus, in their hotels. Louis takes to sitting on his lap as a joke until Niall gives them a strange look on the bus one day in September and Louis realizes it isn't much of a joke, or even remotely funny at all, and he racks his brain for why he thought it was. He comes up skint, and finds his nerves have spiked in the meantime.

On the nights that Louis spends in his own bed, he lies awake and can't help thinking of Liam, of his warm eyes and his big hands. He throws himself into partying, and finds that at some point when he wasn't paying attention, it's gone stale for him. He tells his friends it's gotten to be too much of a good thing, but he doesn't tell them how often he's crawling into bed with Liam.

Liam brings it up in an interview, that they often hang around together and fall asleep in the same room after shows. Louis feels a strange panic when he says it, like he's pulling the curtain back on something untoward, despite that there's nothing strange about sleeping next to your best mate.

There is something strange, though, about cuddling with your clothes off, and about thinking of him day and night, and about your heart hammering in your chest every time you make him laugh --

As September draws to a close and becomes October, Louis feels sick inside for weeks on end, like he's eaten something wrong that just won't leave him. It's disappointment and dread that are curdling inside of him. He starts to inch his way out of denial, and comes to terms with the idea that he’ll just have to bear this crush alone in silence until it passes.

He's had these little crushes on blokes before. They were all born of admiration, however, and this one has distinctly departed from them in certain ways: no pro footballer or school lad of his has ever laid him up for weeks as he works desperately not to wonder what it would feel like to have his arse squeezed and his hair pulled by those big hands.

He knows he can't expect that Liam is being worn down in the same way. Yet he notices the way Liam touches him lately, greedy but reverent. He notices the way Liam looks at him, and how he often can't seem but to keep looking, long after Louis’ attention has been diverted away. He notices how Liam tenses when he touches him without warning, and he notices how tightly Liam sometimes holds himself when they sleep in the same bed.

Louis slowly comes around more and more to the fact that he’s got to act. He's ultimately convinced by a moment after a show in Manchester, when Liam drags him offstage. He's already excited by this, by the rugged animalism of the gesture, and then Liam pulls him around a corner and shoves him up against a wall, gazing into his eyes.

They stare at each other openly and unabashedly. Liam's hand is fisted in his shirt. Louis rarely feels small or delicate, but in this moment he freely imagines how much damage Liam could do to him if he wanted. The marks he could leave, the handprints, finger marks from that strong grip of his, teeth marks, bruises --

Louis thinks about all of this in the span of a few seconds, and heat rises in his cheeks. He wants to put his mouth on Liam's. He wants to feel him open up and fall apart underneath him like a blooming lily. He wants Liam to do with his body whatever he likes; he knows, looking at Liam's flushed face and dark eyes, that there are things Liam wants to do with his body.

Liam drops his hand. His face crinkles in a cheery smile, and the world is righted back onto its axis.

“Good show, Tommo,” Liam says, slapping his bicep.

“Good show, Payno,” Louis says, socking him playfully in the ribs.

Liam laughs and heads back to his dressing room, removing his in-ears as he goes. Louis stays put for a moment and catches his breath.

 

/

 

Liam's relationship with Sophia has been effectively over for a while by the time it ends, but on the day in October that she officially calls time of death, Louis takes him out for a drink.

“What a shit week for this,” Liam says morosely as he stares into a jack and coke. Their security managed to get them into a small Newcastle pub unnoticed, but they stand vigilant at the door in case of a bum’s rush.

“You ought to take the next few days off, lad,” Louis says, finishing the dredges of his beer. “We’ll get a cardboard cutout of you, and I’ll drag it ‘round the stage and banter at it.”

Liam adopts an American accent and the obnoxious tone of an E! News correspondent and says, “Boybander Liam Payne was unusually quiet and thin at a concert in Newcastle yesterday --”

Louis chokes on his beer; his nose stings with it. Liam whaps him on the back.

“I’m glad I can make _somebody_ laugh,” he says drily.

“Oh, come off it, sad man,” Louis scoffs. “You always make me laugh.”

Liam smiles at him. His hair is gelled back with a bit of the front hanging down, and stress has slimmed him down and made his face sharper, more angular. In the low, yellow light of the bar, he looks quite handsome.

Louis feels suddenly nervy and glances down at his hands. He clears his throat. “What’s with the twenty-fifth, this year?” he says.

“Huh?” Liam says, taking a sip.

“The twenty-fifth. I dunno, Zayn, Sophia --”

“Ohhh, you’re right, fuck. Good day of the month to scarper, I guess,” Liam says. Louis is jealous of how he manages to never sound bitter about these things, just melancholy.

They drink in silence for a while. Louis shifts on his stool. He feels profoundly, tremendously guilty for the thoughts he’s having, when Liam is sat here devastated over the loss of his girlfriend of two years. In his head he’s fighting valiantly between hating himself for what he sees as opportunistic desperation, a delusion, a dangerous high-wire act that could prove disastrous for everyone involved, and the longing ache inside of him that he wants nothing more than to soothe.

The darker part of him tries to justify that it could be just once, if they wanted it to be. It could be nothing more than just one lapse in judgment, one youthful experimentation commissioned in darkness and then consigned to the annals of what he expects to be a lifelong friendship.

The possibility remains that nothing could happen, as well. Louis figures this as the more likely outcome if he doesn’t force the issue. Even if Liam is having the same feelings, Louis thinks he’d sooner see their easy comfort with each other rot away under unspoken tension than risk being sexually rejected by Louis.

Louis feels intensely protective of Liam, even from himself. He tries to get away from it, to push himself out of his own head by throwing himself into work as much as possible, but he walks the world raw and aching and hopelessly aware. More than anything, he wants to be put out of his misery.

Before Sophia was gone, it was easier to think nothing might happen. Liam was taken. All he had to do was remind himself that neither of them were _that_ kind of man. And now that she’s only recently gone, he can say to himself, _it’s too soon, he’s in pain, it’s too soon_ , but he doesn’t know how long he can keep that up, he doesn’t know if he can hold back his grasping fingers and the sucking neediness at the center of him for very long now.

Liam finishes his beer. Louis stares at the foam that lingers on the bow of his full lips.

“You alright, Tommo?” Liam says. “You looked a little lost for a minute, there.”

“Shouldn’t I be askin’ you if you’re okay?” Louis rejoinders.

Liam smiles wanly at him. “I’ll live to fight another day. Alright, fives, I’ve got to wee.”

Louis nods. As Liam walks by him, he runs his hand over the breadth of Louis’  back and down his spine to the dip of his waist. Everywhere his fingers touch becomes electrified. Louis tenses, then sags like jello in his seat. He squeezes his eyes shut and rests his forehead on his fist, attempting to ignore his body’s frantic screams of _fuck me! fuck me!_

“Louis Tomlinson?”

He turns to see a dark-haired girl in her early twenties, looking at him nervously. She clears her throat. Someone tries to push past her in the aisle, and he gently brings her in closer so she isn’t trampled.

“Hi, I just -- God, this is weird, I just, like, saw your show tonight,” she says, her voice high with anxiety. “You guys did a great job, is all I wanted to say.”

“Thanks, thank you. What’s your name, love?”

“Hannah,” she says.

Louis smiles to himself.

“Cheers,” he says. “Nice to meet you. Have you got a table?”

“Yeah…”

“What are you drinking? I'll buy you a round.”

“Oh, wow, thank you! Me and my friends are over there,” she says, and points to a table with three girls and one boy. One of the girls hides her face with a menu; the others giggle. “Um, just beer.”

“Right,” he says, grinning. “Well, thanks for coming out today, it means a lot to us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You just missed Payno, actually, he’s in the loo.”

“I know,” Hannah says. “I waited. I didn’t want to bother him, since the whole… well, I just didn’t want to bother him today.”

Louis nods. “I get it. But it’s no bother, he would have liked meeting you.”

She blushes, a broad smile spreading on her face. Louis wistfully remembers a time in his life when he too was that easy to please.

“Well,” Hannah says. “Um, I should leave you alone now.”

He gives her a smile and lifts his glass. She speeds away, the giggles at her table getting louder as she approaches. Louis motions for the bartender to send them five pints and put it on his tab.

Liam returns, swaying with liquor. He pats Louis on the back again as he sits, this time more of an aggressive bro slap than the unquestionably sexual stroke from earlier. Louis could go mad wondering what the difference between them means, so he just gets another beer instead.

“That’s number five,” Liam notes.

“We’re out on the town!” Louis exclaims with more cheer than he feels. “Havin’ a good time. Drinking, getting naughty.”

“Naughty?” Liam says, amused. “Who’s getting naughty, here?”

“The night is young,” Louis says, and then shakes his head slightly, wondering what the hell he’s saying.

Liam is silent. “Hey,” he says.

Louis’ breath stops and he freezes. He turns slowly. “Yeah?”

“Thanks, lad,” Liam says, looking down into his glass instead of up at Louis. “For taking me out. We’re all exhausted this week, you didn’t have to.”

“Right now, you ought to be with someone who knows what you’re going through,” Louis says, shrugging.

They head back to the hotel fairly early. Liam is yearning to get to bed, and Louis is concerned about the possibility of them getting too drunk around each other. Even the five beers alone were a bad idea. He finds himself continually checking Liam out, roving his eyes over his face and body as the Newcastle street lights flash over them through the car window.

Liam seems unaware of this as he stares out the window with his hand resting over his mouth, but there’s a tension in his arms and thighs that Louis can’t ignore.

Louis drops him off at his room on their floor, and lingers for a moment. Liam glances at him and coughs ever so slightly.

“I’m going to be up tossing and turning for a while,” Liam says. “I think I ought to just -- you know.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, Payno, I get it.”

He doesn’t leave, though, and Liam doesn’t seem to want him to. Emboldened by alcohol, he steps into Liam’s space and looks up at him.

Liam seems lost for words; he starts to say something several times and nothing comes out. His eyes are large in the darkness; he looks like a startled doe.

“Louis…” he finally says, and there’s a throaty regret to his voice.

“Liam,” Louis says, shaking his fringe out of his eyes and not wavering in his eye contact.

Liam reaches his hand out and very gently and slowly pushes his hair back from his face for him. Louis’ heart quickens, and he feels goosebumps rising. Heat spreads where Liam's fingers touched him. His cock twitches at how thick the air is with possibility.

“We ought to go to sleep,” Liam murmurs. “Long day tomorrow.”

Louis is relieved and profoundly disappointed, all at once.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Long day tomorrow.”

 

/

 

The last day of the tour isn’t as hard as Louis expected it to be, likely because he doesn’t allow himself to dwell for very long at a time. He does his best to treat it like any other show. He knows the fans and their families don’t want to see them shambling around, weeping their way through their set. That isn’t what they came for. They came for a raucous, joyous sendoff, and that’s what they get.

He doesn’t think about what’s been going on with Liam, either, that is until Liam grabs him and pulls him in for a hug and clings to him unabashedly, pressing every inch of their bodies together.

Louis’ heart pounds in his chest. An overwhelming deluge of emotions pours over him.

And there’s the thrill. The little niggling thrill in his stomach at them being so close. Louis pushes it away. He doesn’t want this moment to be anything but pure.

Liam lets out a long, gusty sigh and his breath catches in his throat. He nuzzles at Louis’ jaw. Louis wishes rather insanely that Liam would kiss him right here, right now, on the mouth.

“It’s not goodbye,” he murmurs hoarsely. “It’s never goodbye.”

“No, no,” Liam whispers, and holds him even tighter. “No, ‘course not.”

 

/

 

Post-Sophia and post-tour, Liam starts hitting the gym even more incessantly than he was before. Louis often accompanies him. They share a lot of the same routines, and they’ve grown to be excellent spotters and hypemen for each other.

On a particularly soggy Monday afternoon in early November, he ends up alone with Liam at a private room in a London exercise studio for the excessively rich. He tried to beg off going this time, afraid of what might happen without the deterrent of prying eyes, but Liam was insistent.

“Can’t believe how soon the record’s coming out,” Liam pants as he sits up on the bench, winding down from a warm-up set and perspiring heavily.

Louis nods as he tugs his earbuds out and sets a pair of dumbbells down.

“Not going very hard today, eh, Tommo?” he continues, grinning at Louis.

“I went yesterday!” Louis protests.

“Ah, right, sure…”

“Well, look who’s having a heart attack over forty-four kilos, lad.”

“It always takes me a while to warm up,” Liam says. “I’m built for _stamina_ , you know, endurance.”

At that, Louis lets his mind wander a bit. He stares at the exposed circle of Liam’s chest above the collar of his muscle tee, at the hairiness of him and the flushed shine of his skin. His eyes rove upward to Liam’s face as he checks his phone and wipes his forehead with a towel; Louis listens to him breathe heavily with exertion and thinks of how he must sound in the throes of sex.

He imagines how diligent and powerful Liam must be, how clockwork a lover, but tender and sweet as well. Louis can’t imagine him taking a girl from behind. As the thought occurs to him, he does imagine Liam taking _him_ from behind, and his lungs contract. He sucks in air.

Liam looks up. “Alright?”

“Pinched my finger,” Louis mutters. He clenches his jaw and prays he can get his head back on straight. His cock is stirring with interest, and he goes over to the chalk powder bin and spends far too long powdering his hands. He breathes evenly, talking himself down from a full hard-on. It’s just Liam. It’s just _Payno_ , who he’s seen day in and day out for five years and in some of the most awkward, messy situations one can be in.

Louis stares at his own increasingly white hands as he works the powder over them. The disgust isn’t sticking. Every unsexy memory he calls up fades cheerfully away in an instant, overpowered by the stronger prurient interest thundering in his veins and pumping blood to his cock.

“Hey there,” Liam says.

Louis looks up.

“I think you’ve got enough powder on,” Liam says, laughing.

Louis holds his hands up like a doctor. “I’m sterile,” he says, mock-serious.

Liam laughs harder. “Come spot me, goof.”

He lies back on the bench, looking at Louis expectantly. Louis swallows and walks over to him. He thinks Liam is watching him as he does, but he doesn’t dare catch his eye to make sure.

Louis plants his feet in a wide stance behind the bench in case he’s got to make a save. “Go,” he says.

Liam eases the barbell off the rack, groaning as he does. Louis’ cock throbs in his shorts at the sound. He punishes himself for this by imagining a horrible scenario of Liam being crushed under the weights because he was too addled to grab them.

He slides his hands under the bar, thumbs pointing up.

“Thanks,” Liam says.

“How much have you got, there?”

“A hundred, with the bar. I’m just warming up.”

“Right,” Louis says, grinning. “You up for it?”

“Oh, fuck off, Tommo. Don’t psych me out.”

“I’d never psych you out, lad,” Louis says. “You’re very fit, I’ve never doubted that.”

“Fit, huh?” Liam says.

Louis’ heart jumps and he clucks his tongue. “In shape,” he clarifies.

“Would you like a ticket to the gun show?” Liam teases, getting his arms in position for a bench press.

“I think I’ve got one, haven’t I?” Louis says, more flirtily than he intends to.

Liam smiles up at him. Since he’s upside down, Louis can’t tell how innocent the smile is -- if it is at all.

Louis clears his throat. He feels a bit dizzy, and grounds his feet against the floor. “Go on, then.”

Liam begins his reps, lifting in that steady-armed and indomitable way of his. Louis thinks he’ll be alright at first, but he quickly finds that he’s in a horrid position: Liam, grunting and sweating underneath him, making sounds that are to Louis’ ears identical to the noises of someone in the throes of sex, his muscles bulging and his face gritted with determination, and all with Louis’ ever-hardening cock inches away from his head.

At set four, Louis realizes he’s at the point of no return. He’s got to get out of there now if he’s going to conceal his hard-on.

As Liam stops to rest, Louis grabs the barbell from him and guides it back into the cradle.

“Hey,” Liam protests.

“Sorry, lad, I have really got to piss,” Louis says, and he starts striding away, trying to mask his desperate urgency as good-natured hurry. “Back in a flash.”

The second as he’s out of the room, he starts swearing to himself. He cloisters himself away in the first bathroom he can find, and locks the door just in case. He bursts into a stall and flips the seat up, dropping his shorts and peeling his briefs off so he can get his hands on his cock.

His touch on himself is an instant relief; his hands are cool and firm. He knows he’s got to come as fast as he can so as not to arouse suspicion, so he indulges in all of the filthy and lecherous thoughts he's been keeping at bay for the last month.

Louis lets him think about Liam’s warm, eager mouth sucking away at his cock, his big strong hands gripping his thighs. He thinks about them rubbing their bodies against each other, Liam grabbing him, manhandling him, yanking his hair, slapping his arse --

He groans with pleasure and leans against the wall, spitting into his hand so he can keep going. He’s desperately near to coming, likely because he jerks off so rarely lately, too afraid of where his mind might wander.

A blissful fuzziness envelopes Louis and he knows he’s about to come, and then he does, splattering the toilet bowl. He leans into the wall, shaking, his muscles clenching and then easing into blissful relaxation. He lets out a sigh that catches in his throat more than he expected and comes out sounding more like a dry sob.

Louis cleans himself up, fast. There’s a powerful emptiness inside of him now. He expected he might feel relieved or at least satisfied if he gave himself over to this thing for a moment, but there’s no peace to be had in the world when he walks it wanting.

He returns to Liam, feeling a stab of guilt upon seeing his face.

Liam flicks his eyes over him, but otherwise makes no mention of his absence or how sweaty he's become. Louis helps him finish his set.

Liam drives him home in his Lamborghini with Louis riding shotgun. Louis fiddles with the radio incessantly, pops tic-tacs, anything that keeps his hands busy.

“So strange that it’s over,” Liam comments. “The tour, I mean.”

Louis looks at him. He looks handsome and confident when he's driving, sat back and low in the seat with only one hand on the top of the wheel. As he pulls to a stop at a light, he looks back at Louis.

“Weird, yeah,” Louis rushes to affirm. “I was getting to feel like this year would never end, honestly.”

“And just like that, it's almost done,” Liam says. “We've just got the AMAs now.”

“Right…”

“I don't mean to keep bringing it up, like,” Liam says, looking back to the road.

“It's not that,” Louis assures him. “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Right,” Liam says.

Without making eye contact with him, Liam reaches a hand over and squeezes his thigh, much higher up than would be considered gentlemanly. Louis stares down at his own lap, uncomprehending. His skin under Liam’s hand is hot and tingling, and happy arousal roils above his pelvis. He can hardly draw a breath; he doesn't allow himself to try.

“Thank God for you, this year,” Liam says, like there's nothing strange at all about the way he's touching Louis. “I don't know what I'd have done without you. Honestly, mate, I mean it. Not to get soppy.”

“Get soppy if you like,” Louis says, marveling at how even and normal his voice sounds. “I feel the same way.”

Liam's hand moves away, and Louis mourns the loss of it.

“Good,” Liam says, smiling and looking to the road ahead of him.

 

/

 

Liam has become a well-meaning but utterly incompetent arbitrator in the war between his body and his better judgment.

His body is constantly trying to position itself closer to Louis, trying to put his hands on Louis, filling him with a nasty brutal jealousy when Louis chats up girls, staring fixated at the way Louis’ little hips sway when he walks, greedy, grasping, always _wanting_ \--

His better judgment tells him _no_. His better judgment says _stay back, Louis is just a flirt, he just feels comfortable with you, close to you, maybe some lines got blurred this year but it's not his fault, you’ve confused yourself, stop touching him, stop staring, stop it, stop it_ \--

He lies to himself constantly, telling himself he isn't actually attracted to Louis. That he _can't_ be, that it doesn't make any good sense, and he’s able to reassure himself for hours at a time with blissful denial until some fresh reminder comes along and he's spent spiraling again.

The realization that this isn’t going away hits him all at once in the final days of October. The knowledge flares up in him whenever he thinks about not getting to be around Louis 24/7 anymore, and gets nauseated and hollow inside as a result.

As much as he loves all of his boys, there’s something pulling him inorexably to Louis that makes parting from him feel impossible. When he’s finally able to take some days off and visit his parents, he spends most of his time wandering aimlessly from room to room in a fog.

He aches over the loss of Sophia, but he aches more broadly over the loss of normalcy and stability in his life. He aches for a time when he didn’t have these thoughts about Louis. He aches for having a steady girlfriend whom he loved and who filled up his waking thoughts and left no room for this confusion. He aches from missing Louis and his razor-sharp wit, his pretty face, his soft skin and scruffy hair, his laugh, even the sweet but distinctly male smell of him.

Liam starts agonizing over texting Louis in a way he hasn’t since they were teens. He constantly wants to impress him, to be as funny as possible. He watches the snaps Louis sends him, of himself doing soccer tricks or wandering around at night, and the hole in his chest grows larger for not being by his side.

The day before they’re all due to meet up again for AMAs suit fittings, Liam tries to draft a text to him. He goes through several different options -- _ha ha is it lame Ive already been missing you bro?, ready for tomorrow?? i was just getting comfortable at home_ , and then, finally, the one that’s most damning: _hey, could we have an honest chat soon, face to face?_

He’s barely even typed that one out before he hits the back button, erasing all of it in a panic.

“Fuck,” Liam whispers.

“What,” Ruth says from where she sits across from him at the kitchen table, skimming the _Sun_.

Liam bites the inside of his cheek. “How do you talk to somebody when you think something’s going on between you, but neither of you’s acknowledged it?”

“What does ‘something’ mean?”

“Something. Anything. Anything that’s hard to talk about.”

Ruth snorts. “Got it. Let me know when you find out the answer to that one, as I haven’t the foggiest.”

Liam sets his phone down with a sigh and stirs his cereal.

Ruth looks at him over top of the paper. “You alright?”

Liam shrugs. “Fine.”

“You’re such a _worrier_ ,” Ruth says. “Always have been. Everything will be alright, Liam, I promise. You’re a beloved twenty-two year old millionaire.”

Liam laughs. “Right.”

 

/

 

Liam wildly underestimated how difficult the fitting session would be to get through.

The air around him and Louis is so thick with tension that everyone else seems to be on edge as well, like the room itself has been contaminated. One of the stylists keeps dropping pins on the floor, and Niall grows weary with the proceedings fairly quickly.

“I liked the first one, honestly,” he says with a sigh when a seventh potential option is foisted on him.

Louis and Liam circle each other like a pair of hawks, talking awkwardly about broad topics that seem to serve as flimsy fronts. They profess to being on edge -- but about the AMAs performance -- and worn down -- but by the long year -- and glad to be reunited -- but as a band, not as a twosome --

Harry puts on some jazz to lighten the mood and starts dancing with Lottie. She laughs hysterically as he drags her around the room in a waltz.

“This is not jazz dancing, Harold,” she exclaims.

“This suit’s too tight for a jitterbug,” he responds, with all the seriousness in the world.

Liam glances over at Louis, who’s standing in front of a full-length mirror frowning at his own reflection.

He walks up behind him, placing his hands on Louis’ biceps. Louis twitches, almost imperceptibly but not quite.

Liam clears his throat, but he doesn’t drop his hands. “What’s up?”

“Ahh…” Louis tucks his fringe behind his ear. “Not sure about this one.”

It’s a dark navy suit with a white dress shirt underneath, no tie. Liam thinks he looks good in it, but he isn’t particularly fussy.

He drops his hands. “I like the color…”

“It is a good color,” Lou calls to him. Liam is reminded there are people watching, and he drops his hands.

“Yeah, but ‘s a bit boring, innit?” Louis says, and turns to the side to see more of himself. The curve of his arse brushes Liam’s thigh as he does and Liam’s jaw clenches.

“Yeah, and _I’m_ wearin’ navy,” Niall says.

“Well, we can both wear navy, lad,” Louis says with a laugh.

“Try the speckled black one,” Harry says. “But same shirt.”

Louis turns to fetch the other suit and bodily moves Liam out of the way, as casually as he always does, but there’s a possessiveness to his grip on Liam’s waist that fills Liam with cautious hope.

He looks away as Louis takes his trousers and blazer off, arms folded, drumming his fingers on his arm.

“Is that what you’re going with, Liam?” Harry says, as he picks up a coffee and sips it. Niall sits down on an overturned box next to Harry, and Harry hands him a coffee as well.

Liam smooths his hands over his front. “Yeah, I think it’s alright… no?”

“It’s simple,” Niall says. “You’ve got that banker look, mate.”

“ _That’s_ what he looks like,” Harry says, nodding sagely.

“Dad!” Niall exclaims, grinning.

“Liam Payne, MP.”

Liam pouts. “Fine, I can swap the tie out.”

“Go skinnier this time,” Lottie calls from where she’s helping a stylist sort swatches.

Liam sees the movements of Louis dressing in his peripheral vision.

“Right, that works,” he says abruptly, and then to the room at large: “You know, we can’t all be Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes and smiles. “What a world that would be,” he says cheerily.

“A band full of Harries doesn’t work,” Niall says. “Imagine if Fleetwood Mac was four Stevies. Just a load of glittery scarves and F sharps.”

“Is this better?” Louis says, glancing up. He doesn’t address the question to anyone in particular, but he’s looking straight at Liam.

Liam feels heat rising in his chest, stomach and cheeks. “Well, have a look,” he says, and follows Louis.

He sidles up behind him, and they make brief eye contact in the mirror. Louis’ gaze snaps away hastily and back toward himself. He can look very cold sometimes, with his angular face and his flinty eyes.

“It’s good,” Louis says, softly. “I like it.”

“I like it too,” Liam says, moving half a step closer. They’re sharing each other’s air, now. Louis’ breathing seems to become much quieter.

His body is so close to Louis’; his crotch is mere inches away from Louis’ arse. He glances away from the mirror and at the side of Louis’ face.

“I think the jacket needs, ah... needs taken in at the waist,” Louis says.

Liam’s hand comes up, and he hesitates for the briefest of moments, and then throws caution to the wind and goes for it. He pinches the back of Louis’ blazer in his fingers, pulling it tight around his waist and the flare of his hips.

Louis inhales and covers it with it into a cough. Liam’s veins are lit aflame by the sound.

“Yours usually do,” Liam remarks.

Louis meets his eyes in the mirror. His expression is unreadable.

 

/

 

Louis begins to hate what's happened to them.

They've always touched so freely and easily; like he does with all his mates save Harry, but maybe even moreso because Louis has never once been afraid to be too aggressive with Liam. It's been a blessing to always have someone to roughhouse with, when no one else was in the mood or when they started growing out of it.

Liam served as a backstop to all of his vicious moods and flashes of mischief. When Louis acts out, he calmly absorbs it or wrestles him into submission. Hardly anyone in his life has understood that's something he needs; even Zayn didn't twig to it. And in the past year, Louis has grown far too used to keeping bad feelings at bay by clinging to the reassuring broad angles of Liam.

Now every touch is fraught. Liam isn't wrestling Louis down, but only because Louis isn't giving him a reason to. He feels lonely and small and trapped inside of himself, which is so deeply unlike him. His problem has always been that there's too much of him for it to all fit inside himself.

Louis sinks into one of his bad times in the second week of November, partying more and more as the days wear on, dreading seeing Liam at press functions and rehearsals. Oli and Calvin do their best to buoy him out of it, introducing him to an array of women who he'd ordinarily jump at a chance with, but all he wants to do is drink himself into a stupor and be dragged home around 3 a.m.

“What's with you lately?” Oli says one night, after that exact scenario has played out once again. Louis is lying in bed with the world spinning around him, and Oli is pulling off his trainers for him.

“I want something,” Louis says, swallowing. His mouth is dry. “Can't have it.”

“Well, that's life, mate, innit?”

Louis laughs in a hard way that doesn't sound like him. “Don't know how much more I can take.”

“Is it a bird?”

Louis closes his eyes. He thinks he might need to vomit soon. “Yeah.”

“My advice? If you can't ‘ave her, forget her.”

“Not that easy,” Louis murmurs.

“What --” Oli snorts, “-- is it love?”

His heart squeezes like a fist in his chest. “Sort of. I hope not.”

“If you're so serious about it, why've I never heard you talk about this one before?”

“Too risky,” Louis says.

“Huh?”

He evens his breathing and pretends to have passed out. After a moment, Oli leaves, and he rolls onto his side, cradling himself in his own arms.

 

/

 

Louis and Niall go out to catch a show in Camden on one of their last few free nights before AMAs rehearsals begin in earnest.

Niall seems to sense that Louis isn’t interested in pulling and doesn’t direct him to any girls, which carries an implication Louis doesn’t like. He wonders how obvious he’s being with his sad boy moping and pining.

After the show they ditch the friends they came with, grab some forties and go up to the roof. Louis is settling into a black little mood. He finishes one forty and then smashes the glass off the concrete, and then goes around in a fit of destruction, picking up bricks and dropping them until they crack in half, scratching dirty words onto the roof with a piece of glass that bites his thumb and leaves it bleeding.

Niall sits on a lounge chair he found, watching all of this impassively as he finishes his own forty. When Louis has exhausted himself, he stands in the middle of the roof chain-smoking into the muggy night air, looking out at the rooftops of houses of Camden. He wonders if other musicians have stood on this same rooftop and chain-smoked furiously because of love, or the lack of it.

“Got somethin’ on your mind?” Niall calls. “Talk to me.”

Louis laughs. “I’m just, ah…”

He heaves a sigh and comes over to Niall, sitting next to his feet on the stretched out plastic slats of the chair. Niall tips his head and gives him a searching look.

Louis can’t say anything; how could he? so instead he just smiles and shrugs his shoulders loosely.

“We ought to plan that lads holiday,” he says.

“Right,” Niall says, grinning. “If we don’t, no one else will.”

“We’ll punish ‘em for dragging their feet,” Louis says. “With just like, three straight weeks in Ireland.”

“Ahh, now he’s talking!” Niall says, folding his arms behind his head. “Three weeks in the cow fields.”

“Get Harry on a plow, get him working…”

“I think he’d like that, honestly. He always has a good time in Mullingar.”

Chuckling, Louis looks at his phone. He’s got a snap from Liam.

He's on a balcony somewhere in London, surrounded by people, holding a beer. _Miss you_ says the caption.

Louis stares at his phone. His chest aches.

“What's happened?” Niall says.

Louis turns to him.

“You've got a face like a funeral, all of a sudden.”

“Nothin’,” Louis says. He clicks the screen on his phone off and stares out across the gray rooftops of Camden.

“Clearly not nothin’,” Niall comments.

“I have to make a call,” Louis says abruptly, and he gets up. “Wait for me, lad.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll be right here.”

Louis rings Liam as he's walking, before he even gets out of Niall’s presence. He needs to hear Liam's voice so badly, it's like he's being deprived of air.

The phone rings and rings. Louis goes one flight down the stairwell and collapses in the corner of the landing, praying no one tries to come up to the roof. His back is jammed against a cold concrete wall and he realizes how drunk he is as he sits there, swaying slightly, listening to his phone ring.

“‘Lo?” Liam says, finally. He sounds as drunk as Louis feels.

Louis heaves a massive relieved sigh. “Liam…”

“Oh, Tommo! I hoped it was you.”

“Aye, it's me.”

They're silent for a moment. Louis doesn't mind, he just likes knowing he's on the other end of the line.

“I miss you,” Liam says. “And… I've just said that, haven't I?”

“You snapped me that, lad,” Louis says, laughing. He presses a hand to his forehead and pushes his fingers up under his fringe.

“I mean it,” Liam says. He’s hard to hear over all the noise from his surroundings, but he sounds melancholy and frustrated. “I miss you something awful.”

“Me too,” Louis confesses. “When do we see each other again?”

“Well, we've got press engagements all day next Saturday…”

Louis has a flash of genius and clutches the phone harder.

“Listen,” he says, feeling suddenly manic with the enormity of what he's just resolved to do. “There's this party in Kensington on Friday.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm going, I know some people there. Ought to be a good time. Come with me, alright?”

The line goes quiet for a moment. Louis becomes unaccountably paranoid that his intentions were somehow betrayed in his voice, that Liam sussed out his most hidden thoughts and is disgusted with him.

“Sorry,” Liam says, “thought I heard someone calling me -- that sounds perfect, I'm totally game, lad. Just let me know what time and I'll swing by yours and pick you up.”

Relief breaks over Louis. He nods, alone in the dark. “It's a plan, then.”

“Later, Tommo.”

“Night, Payno.”

When he returns to Niall, Niall is fiddling with his own phone responding to texts, but he looks up expectantly when Louis gets close.

“All good?” Niall says.

Louis exhales. “Yeah, just missed my mum all of a sudden, wanted to give her a ring,” he lies.

Niall clucks his tongue and smiles. “Mama’s boy. Alright, keep drinkin’ with me, mate. The night isn't over yet. I've got addresses for a few house shows here…”

Louis sits down on the lounge chair again as Niall lists off names of bands, only half-listening, consumed by thoughts of Friday.

 

/

 

Sweat beads at the dip of Louis’ lower back as he sits in the passenger seat of the Lambo.

“Is the heat too high?” Liam says distractedly, looking over his shoulder to merge onto the A4.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a fucking sauna in here, actually,” Louis says.

Liam laughs and leans over to fix it on the dash. “In my defense, it was colder out yesterday,” he says.

Between the heat and the tension in the car, Louis has an anxious, slippery feeling, like he’s standing barefoot on rough marble. He can’t seem to draw a proper breath or get his arm hair to stop standing on end. He focuses on the gleaming streetlights outside the window as they pass by.

“Think I’m going to roll tonight,” he says.

“Really?” Liam says, taking a sip of his Coke. “So I’m on babysitting duty, then?”

“Wasn’t going to take that much,” Louis counters. “You remember Candace, she used to apprentice with Lou? She said she’s got a bag of it...”

Liam puts his hand up. “Hey, it’s up to you.”

“I don’t want you to think what you’re thinkin’.”

“And how do you know what I’m thinking?” Liam says, scratching the bridge of his nose.

Louis opens his mouth to respond. Someone cuts Liam off, and he honks at them with a gentle little beep.

Louis faces front again. “I’ve kind of lost the taste for partying like that,” he says. “Like I used to.”

“So have I.”

“Roll with me?” Louis says. “Old times sake.”

This is met with silence and then a sigh of consternation from Liam. Louis shuts his eyes and prays that he’ll acquiesce. He knows it would happen if they both rolled, if they both let their inhibitions go together and felt warm and handsy and at one with the universe. It would happen in an instant, it would be more natural and easy than a heartbeat.

“I don’t want to get high,” Liam finally says.

Louis’ face falls. His jaw tightens, and he looks down at the floor between his feet. “Alright.”

“I’ll drink,” he clarifies. “But I don’t want to get high. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

He’s right. They do. Louis doesn’t give a damn, though.

 

/

 

The party is well underway by the time they get in. Louis finds a few of his stylist friends in the kitchen, and they welcome him with such enthusiasm he knows they’re already on their way to a high themselves.

“Where’s Oli?” Sarah says, opening him a beer.

“No idea,” Louis says, taking it gratefully. “Are we rollin’ me?”

“Ooh, _yes_ ,” says Candace, and she holds up a finger and disappears out of the kitchen. When she returns, she has a bag with white powder all on the inside. “You were late, we’ve already dosed, but...”

“I like Oli!” Sarah pouts. “He’s a funny one. You said you brought Liam along tonight?”

“Aye, I did, he’s bein’ held up by that… Arthur? Who’s he, again?”

“A Viner,” Sarah says.

Louis squints at her, and then downs almost half of the beer.

“Is that _really_ a thing?” he says, wiping his lip.

“It truly is,” Candace says somberly, like she’s giving him bad news. “So, we’ve got the A/C blasting, and if you need a pacifier or anything, I’ve got a drawer full of them.”

“Can I get some glowsticks as well?” Louis snarks as he takes the bag and turns it inside out. “To complete the effect?”

“Ha, ha,” Sarah says. “Be careful with that, that’s almost a dose right there.”

“Sick,” Louis says. He licks up the powder.

Candace hands him a bottle of water. “Enjoy the trip,” she says, smiling warmly at him and running her hands over the counter.

 

/

 

Louis finds Liam again outside on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and talking to a director of music videos who Louis only sort of recognizes.

The director excuses himself to get another beer. The two of them are left alone, save for the people who are gathered in each of the doorways that lead to the balcony, all smoking and chatting with each other.

Louis gets closer and closer to Liam. He watches his body language, wanting to find some sign in how he holds his shoulders or how he positions his feet. Finally Liam ashes his cigarette and looks up, piercing Louis with steady eye contact. Louis freezes in his tracks.

“Your pupils are massive,” Liam comments.

“Yeah, it's comin’ on,” Louis says. “I can feel it.”

He's warm all over already, and very desperate for touch. He wishes someone would run their hands through his hair. He wants for that someone to be Liam.

He’s shed his jacket already, and his short sleeves are rolled up over his biceps. His body is flushed and feverish. It’s satisfying, like he’s being purged of something. The night air feels good on his hot skin.

“It looks good on you,” Liam comments. “Molly.”

Louis wonders for a moment if he hallucinated, if he’s dreaming, if Liam would have really said that to him. Then Sarah comes up behind him, runs her hand through his hair and says, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Hi,” he says to her.

“Hi,” she says back. “It’s a nice, mellow little high. I’m having fun.”

“Good to know,” Louis says.

She beams at him, and he’s overcome with affection for everyone at the party; everyone in the world.

He turns to Liam and gets closer to him, leaning into his space. Liam puts a hand on his waist to steady him; his cold beer bumps against Louis’ hip and it feels good.

“Scratch my scalp,” Louis instructs him. “My head’s so sweaty…”

Liam smiles and sets his beer down. He obliges, seeming glad for an excuse to really thoroughly touch Louis. He smooths his hands all through Louis’ damp hair, rubbing his scalp and scratching it. Louis lets out a little moan of pleasure and leans needily into his touch. He feels himself beginning to get hard.

Liam leans in and bumps forehead with him. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers, dropping his hands.

“Don’t stop,” Louis whines.

“Inside, Tommo.”

His voice is a warm, low rumble in his chest. Louis thinks he would do anything that voice told him to.

“Okay,” he agrees.

 

/

 

Back inside the darkness of the house, Liam feels himself being steadily swallowed by a wonderful feeling of inevitability. He luxuriates in it, gives up control and lets it break over him again and again like the ocean. His fear is swept off of him and carried away.

He’s good and tipsy now, and he’s light on his feet and full of some kind of driving energy. He propels himself and Louis, one hand on Louis’ lower back.

They push through the crowd until they end up at the top of a staircase. Liam stops, unsure of where to go.

Louis turns and puts his hands on Liam’s waist. Liam’s skin burns where he’s touched. He looks at Louis’ flushed face and parted lips and wants him so much, he can hardly believe it.

“Somewhere private,” Louis murmurs, looking at him. His pupils are black holes, crowding out his blue irises til they’re two slim rings. He’s never looked better to Liam than he does right now.

“Yeah,” Liam says hoarsely. He doesn’t trust himself to say more than that.

He takes Louis’ hand and leads him down the stairs. He briefly wonders how this looks to others, or if anyone is even paying attention to them; then realizes he doesn’t have him in it to care.

As they continue down to the lowest level of the house, the noise dims and Liam realizes how little he’s been breathing. He sucks in a sharp breath. Louis takes the lead at the last landing and grabs the hem of his shirt, forcefully dragging him along.

There are some people gathered doing coke in the basement, but not many, and they don't pay either of the boys any mind. It’s considerably cooler down here, and Liam shivers as the air hits his skin. He finds himself wishing to be pressed to Louis, who is radiating heat like a little furnace. He imagines the planes and curves of Louis’ body up against his own. He imagines digging his fingers into the skin of Louis’ plush arse and thighs.

Louis keeps dragging him until they reach a little room with soundproof lining on the walls and bookshelves stacked with vinyls. A massive record player sits in one corner, across from a leather couch.

“Ah, you’ve been here before,” Liam notes.

“Just the once,” Louis says. He sounds like he looks: loose and fevered. “Sarah took me down here to listen to some Basie.”

“So… have you slept with her?” Liam asks, without meaning to. “Sarah?”

Louis flashes his teeth in a smile. “Sit down,” he says, and flips the lock on the door.

Liam settles onto the couch, spreading his legs out. He’s still buzzing with alcohol. He waits intently for Louis to come over to him. He begins cracking his knuckles out of anxiety and impatience as Louis futzes around looking for a record.

“Requests?” he says.

“Have they got any Amy?”

“Winehouse?”

“Yeah.”

Louis nods and he squats down to the lowest shelf, then puts one of her records on. Liam feels the bass throbbing in his bones and muscles. His cock isn’t quite hard yet, but blood is headed in that direction.

Louis turns back to him and smiles: impish, mischievous.

Liam is under the water, under the waves.

Louis comes to him, then. He settles on Liam’s lap, which isn’t strange; he’s been doing that lately. They've got plausible deniability, still.

Liam reaches out and tentatively runs his fingers over Louis’ back and ribs, through his shirt. He starts to speak and trails off. Everything he’s got to say can only be said with his body.

Louis is so warm. He looks at Liam, his hooded eyes heavy-lidded and soft. He reaches out and strokes Liam’s face, running his hand over his bottom lip.

“Louis,” Liam chokes out, as he’s seized by the full reality of what’s about to happen.

Louis leans into his space slowly, like he’s waiting for him to pull away. Liam doesn’t. His skin is on fire. He can’t think. He needs this more than anything. He’s in agony from how much he wants to touch Louis.

Louis’ mouth is centimetres from his. Liam stops breathing. His chest rises and doesn’t fall.

Louis kisses him.

Liam’s world bursts open in a riot of senses and emotion. It’s far better than he ever could have imagined. The chemistry between them is absurd in its intensity; he can’t remember the last time he felt like this.

A moan escapes him, and Louis is moaning too as they kiss deeper and harder, sucking at each other’s lips and shoving their tongues into each other’s mouths. He grips Louis’ hair in one hand and reaches for his arse with the other; Louis climbs up more onto his lap and he falls back against the couch so they can have freer access to each other’s bodies.

Amy croons in the background, mercifully covering up the worst of obscene noises coming from both of them as they work each other over on the couch, releasing ages of pent-up tension. Liam is rock-hard. Louis’ hand accidentally brushes his cock in his pants and he’s overwhelmed by the sensation, letting out a little cry. He pulls his mouth away from Louis’ and presses their foreheads together, desperately running his hands through Louis’ hair like it’s the last chance he’ll ever have.

“Tommo,” he says.

Louis very tenderly kisses his top lip.

“What are we doing?” he whispers. His fingertips are trembling.

Louis takes Liam’s face in his hands and smiles at him. His face is soft with immense fondness. He shakes his head, and leans in to kiss Liam again.

Their bodies press together with need. Liam is dizzy with passion and bewilderment. He wonders how they can just be doing this, how his tongue can possibly be in Louis’ mouth, how their teeth can be clicking together and how he can be squeezing Louis’ arse with his hand.

He exhales shakily and presses his hands hard to the dip of Louis’ waist. Louis’ forehead is sweaty enough that the front of Liam’s hair is now damp. He tastes Louis’ cigarettes in his own mouth.

Louis sucks at his bottom lip and then moves down slightly, his warm chest and stomach pressed to Liam’s as he settles in his arms, kisses down Liam’s jaw and his neck, and then sucks at the sensitive skin of his throat. Liam groans and wraps his arms tightly around Louis.

“You’re high,” he murmurs. “You’re not thinking straight --”

“I’m not?” Louis says, and the sweet raspy sound of his voice sends shivers through Liam. He runs his hand up the back of Louis’ neck and into his hair and clutches it in his hand. Louis stops sucking at his neck and nuzzles at the hollow of his collarbone.

“Let’s go to bed,” Liam says, already aching inside from what he’s denying himself. “Sleep it off.”

“Alright,” Louis says, sounding small.

Liam kisses his sweaty forehead. “Sober you up,” he says.

 

/

 

To Liam’s relief, Louis has the presence of mind to start playing-acting as higher than he is when they get back upstairs. They find Sarah, and she ushers them upstairs, fast, and fixes them a guest room.

“I’ll check on you later,” she says worriedly, as Louis leans on the bed, sliding his Vans off. “Make sure he doesn’t get too hot, Liam.”

He nods and she leaves them, shutting the door so that the only light in the room is coming in the window from the moon and the street outside.

Louis straightens up and pulls his clothes off quickly so that he’s standing in his boxers. Without looking at Liam, he crawls into bed.

“Is a blanket okay?” Liam murmurs to him as he slides into the bed next to him, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it onto the floor.

Louis’ fringe hangs in his eyes, obscuring his expression. He shakes his head. “Sheet.”

Liam pulls the sheet over them. Louis sidles up against him, cuddling like they always do but with more confidence and possessiveness. There’s more intimacy to his touch than there usually is. Liam wants badly to spoon with him, but he can’t bring himself to initiate it.

“Liam,” Louis mumbles. “Water.”

Liam immediately sits up and grabs a bottle off the bedside table, uncaps it for Louis and hands it to him. Louis drinks almost half of it before handing it back, then buries his face against Liam’s chest.

He presses up against Liam, and his hand glides down to Liam’s crotch. It’s so unexpected that Liam doesn’t even realize what’s happening until Louis’ fingers slip through the slit in his boxers and brush against his still-hard cock. He jolts, both from surprise and from desperate wanting. But he grabs Louis hard by the wrist and pulls his hand away.

“Not while you’re high,” Liam says firmly. “Hear me?”

He then wonders, quite painfully, if Louis really even wants any of this, or if this is just a fun experiment for him, brought on by molly. He wonders if they’ll both regret this terribly in the morning.

“Payno…” Louis says. He sounds deeply melancholy. Liam’s chest aches.

Louis swallows and goes quiet. He does stay close, and Liam continues to hold him.

He doesn’t fall asleep for some time. Every time his eyes start to close, he snaps back awake to make sure Louis is breathing alright, and that he's not too warm.

 

/

 

Liam wakes with a hangover. There are thick light-blocking curtains on the windows behind the bed that mercifully allow only a single thick sliver of the sun in, but his head pounds regardless.

It takes him about a minute of racking his brain to remember where he is, that it's Louis in bed with him, and why he feels at once elated and crushingly disappointed.

He lets out a quiet sigh. Louis is still cuddled up against him, curled up and breathing softly. Liam stares at the back of his head for a while, wondering.

Finally, he reaches down toward the foot of the bed and pulls a blanket over both of them. It's quite cold in the room now.

Louis stirs and clears his throat.

“Morning,” Liam says. “Feeling alright?”

Louis nods and stretches out. He rolls over and looks at Liam. “Sober now.”

They keep eye contact for a long moment.

Louis sits up and settles down over him, laying across his chest, their faces close. He has a brilliant smile on his pretty face.

“Liam,” he says.

Liam heart stirs with hope. He pushes it away, instantly, and slides a hand over Louis’ lower back. “Listen…” he says, frightened that he'll be scared away at the slightest provocation.

Louis leans in, and their lips meet.

It's a lovely, tender kiss, with none of the desperate urgency of last night. Louis is practically gentlemanly with him. He cups Liam's face in his hands again, strokes his jaw, kisses all over his cheeks and forehead and then comes back to his lips and stays there for quite a while.

Liam holds him tight, arms wrapped around him, unable to fully believe what’s happening.

Louis finally draws back from him, his eyes going half-lidded and smiley like one’s do after a good kiss.

“Liam,” he repeats, with all the warmth in the world in his voice.

 

/

 

(See [_wonderland_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5946655).)

 

***

 

_November 25, 2015 in Mexico City, MX_

 

The heat is dire, but tequila helps.

Liam and Louis have been intensely randy all day, barely able to keep their hands off each other. They snogged in Louis’ room before the press conference, jammed up against the door so no one could get in, and then spent the entirety of the press conference blatantly flirting. Niall and Harry turned in early, exhausted, but Liam and Louis’ spirits are buoyed on an intoxicating mix of their hormones and the hot, loud city. Everything Louis does anymore drives him mad; his walk, the sound of his voice, the sly looks he gives Liam. Liam can’t help but keep being drawn into his orbit, can’t help but keep touching him. He’s a man possessed.

Back at the hotel bar they’ve been pounding margaritas and chatting with the locals, watching the sun set over the mountains beyond the city and letting their hands and feet brush. A few times they’ve just taken a moment to gaze at each other, grinning like they’ve gotten away with murder. Liam can scarcely believe how happy he is.

In the elevator up to Louis’ room, Liam reaches out and pinches his arse.

Louis starts. “Stop it,” he says, laughing quietly.

Liam reaches out for him and pulls him in, holding him as tight as he can, shifting his weight from foot to foot so the two of them sway gently to and fro. “I want you so bad,” he murmurs in Louis’ ear. Louis is sweating off his deodorant and cologne, and Liam loves the mingling scents. He knows it's just brain chemistry, but lately he's been obsessed with the way Louis smells.

“I know,” Louis says back, and reaches a hand up behind him to stroke Liam’s hair. “Want you too, have all day, it's been murder on me.”

Liam's quiet. He doesn't worry about anyone else getting on the elevator; what would they say about it, _‘I saw two boys from One Direction getting handsy with each other’_? They're always handsy with each other -- it's their bulletproof defense.

It feels immensely good to him to admit to wanting Louis sexually, to being desirous of him. He didn't realize how hellish it had been trying to hide it until he didn't have to anymore.

They stagger out onto the floor, clinging to each other. Louis fumbles in his pockets for his key card and Liam pushes him along, herding him toward his room, a little heavy on his feet from tequila.

Liam runs his hand up and down Louis’ side as he waits for him to get the card in the door. As soon as it opens, Louis drags Liam into the room by his shirttail and shoves him against the nearest wall. He snogs him desperately and with a lot of tongue, and Liam lets his mouth relax entirely for him as he slides his hands over Louis’ hips and then his arse, squeezing him in greedy handfuls.

It's cooler in the room, but they're still sweating like pigs, and their skin is flushed with arousal.

Louis draws back ever so slightly. “Get your clothes off,” he breathes. Liam hasn't got to be told twice.

He undoes his belt as Louis tears apart his shirt, popping the buttons out of the holes, and then he yanks Louis’ v-neck up and off his head as Louis tugs off his skinny jeans. They stumble together toward the hot tub in the corner of the room.

When they reach it, Louis’ lower back collides with the side, and Liam grabs him hard by the jaw to kiss him again. Louis melts under his touch, groaning with pleasure and rolling his hips against Liam’s thigh.

“I wanna feel you all over me,” Louis says. His voice is low and raspy, but there’s a sweetness to it that hit Liam right in his cock. He slides his hands over Liam’s torso, tweaking his nipples.

“Get in the hot tub,” Liam tells him.

Louis smiles coyly in that way that drives him mad. He shimmies out of his boxer briefs and climbs into the hot tub, giving Liam a flash of his cock as he does. He’s a little hard, too.

Liam reaches over and starts the jets on cool, then slides out of his own boxers and follows Louis in. He seats himself in the corner and grabs Louis around the waist again so they can get back to snogging. Louis fits between his legs perfectly, like he’s meant to be there. They kiss and kiss, pressing their tongues into each other’s mouths, letting out soft grunts and moans of lust as they do.

Louis’s body is wonderful against him, and the cool jets pulsing on his heat-battered and exhausted muscles and sweaty skin is almost erotic in itself. Liam wants so badly to go to bed with Louis, to lay him down across the mattress and have an orgasm with him. Mexico City twinkles brightly outside their wide window, like it’s winking at them: _oh, go on, you two._

Louis pulls away from his lips and presses soft kisses down the side of his bearded jaw and over his throat. “Payno,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” Liam says, leaning forward and resting his mouth against Louis’ hairline. He inhales. Louis’ hair smells like salt and coconut. Louis’ thigh bumps against his, and then the hardness of his cock brushes Liam’s stomach in the water. He shivers with anticipation and runs his hands over Louis’ back. “What is it?”

Louis cups his face with his hands and they kiss deeply again, pawing at each other. Liam starts to rut against him without even thinking about it, his body just mindlessly acting on its desire for release.

“I want somethin’,” Louis says, pulling back again, but not very far. His voice has changed slightly; he's nervier now.

“What is it, lad?” Liam murmurs, staring at the rosiness of his mouth.

Louis leans back into him, pressing their cheeks together, rubbing his thigh against Liam’s hard cock. Liam lets out a soft sigh and pulls him in closer. He lets his eyes close, nuzzling against Louis’ cheekbone.

“I'm only sayin’ this ‘cos I drank…”

“What is it?” Liam repeats.

“I’d like you to finger me,” Louis whispers in his ear.

Liam sinks his nails into Louis’ back. A pleasant shudder goes through him, and a spasm of arousal shoots through his stomach straight to his cock. He wishes he could bottle the sound of that sentence.

“Louis,” he moans.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Louis breathes, and draws back again so he can look Liam in the eye. His cheeks are pinker than they were a moment ago, and he’s tense in Liam’s arms like a guitar string. “Longer’n that, actually.”

Liam considers that, and it’s a powerful turn-on. He kisses him, and Louis bites his lip, hard. Liam exhales through his nose. He runs his hand up the back of Louis’ neck and squeezes his hand around, pressing his thumb to the hollow of his throat.

“I’d like to finger you,” he murmurs.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Louis whines. “Please, please --”

“Louis,” Liam says, and it comes out almost as a growl. They’re rubbing needily up against each other, already moving together toward the far edge of the hot tub so they can climb out. “Are you ready for that?”

Louis nods frantically, and presses kisses to Liam’s shoulder. “Aye, yeah, I got ready earlier…”

They do get out, then, and towel each other off, clinging to each other as they do, unable to separate for more than an instant. Liam’s blood is thundering in his veins.

“Anything else you want?” he asks. It’s a dangerous question, but he’s confident he knows the answer ahead of time.

Louis’ eyes connect with his. He bites his lip and his eyelashes flutter. He nods.

Liam’s heart squeezes in his chest and he feels another stab of arousal deep in his gut. He grabs Louis by the bicep. “You want _that_?”

“I want that,” Louis says throatily. “Really. Properly. From you.”

“God,” Liam says, unable to think of any other words. He kisses him again, desperately, roughly. Their teeth click together. Louis starts dragging him toward the bedroom and they stagger together in step, Liam holding Louis by the jaw as he does.

They crash their way into the large elegant bedroom, and when they’re to the circular bed in the center, Liam puts a hand on Louis’ chest and pushes him so his back hits the mattress. Louis’ eyes widen in surprise and he grins up at Liam. Liam grabs him hard by the thighs and drags him down the bed so his arse is flush with Liam’s crotch.

“Payno,” Louis sighs luxuriously, arching his back against the bed and grabbing at the sheets. He looks like he wants to be fucked so bad he can’t stand it.

“Have you got supplies and things?” Liam asks him hurriedly, leaning down so they can kiss again. Louis strokes the back of his head.

“Yeah, in my bag...”

Liam doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s back in a flash with the lube. He’s even harder, holding the bottle and imagining Louis packing it, thinking about what they’d do with it.

He climbs on the bed with Louis and they both move closer to the center, so they’ve got room to spread out. Louis strokes Liam’s arm as he squeezes lube onto his fingers.

“Have you done this before?” Liam says, looking up at him.

Louis smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Eleanor fingered me a few times, yeah.”

“Alright, I won’t be too gentle with you, then,” Liam says, cheeky.

“Wouldn’t want you to be, lad,” Louis says hoarsely. Liam’s cock twitches at that.

“I can’t believe we’re --” Liam stops himself and starts laughing. He buries his face in Louis’ chest and Louis laughs too, stroking his back. “I can’t believe you trust me this much,” he finishes, his voice soft.

“I trust you more than anybody,” Louis says to him, with the sort of sincerity only alcohol can provide.

Liam’s cheeks get hot. He presses up against him as he slides his hand down and slips his pointer finger into Louis. Louis exhales, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Good, good,” Louis assures him, and Liam rolls him over so he’s flat on his back. They lie there, then, in a semblance of missionary, tipsy and aching for each other, thrusting their cocks against each other’s thighs.

“How much can you take?” Liam says, and realizes he’s started leaking precome on Louis’ belly. “Fuck, fuck…”

“Think pure thoughts,” Louis says, chuckling. “I’m a go for another finger. You haven’t got to try fucking me tonight, y’know --”

Liam shoves his middle finger into him and Louis lets out a shuddery gasp, sinking his nails into Liam’s lower back.

“Harder, rub harder,” he commands.

“Where at?” Liam murmurs, nosing at his temple.

“Make like, a come here motion, but up inside me, like at the ceiling -- _fuck_ ,” Louis says, and sucks in more air as Liam complies, “fuck, that, exactly, _fuck,_ fuck --”

“Don’t, don’t, I’ll come,” Liam says urgently, but he’s drunkenly groping at the round swell of Louis’ arse with his free hand as he says it. Louis chokes out a moan.

“Come if you want,” he says, his voice wanton and fucked-sounding. Liam grits his teeth and tries to stay focused.

“Honestly, I want to fuck you badly enough I can wait,” he confesses. Louis arches his back again and makes a soft noise very low in his throat. Liam pushes a third finger into him.

“You're so hot, fuck,” Liam groans, thrusting idly up against Louis as he fucks him with his fingers. “So hot, Louis --”

He gets a third finger in and Louis lets out a little cry. He squirms under Liam; his cock is dripping too as it’s rubbed between them. “M’not, even,” he says, with a breathy laugh, then moans again as Liam teases his arsehole with his pinky.

“You're perfect,” Liam insists, kissing him deeply as he moves them up and down on the bed with the force of his fingering. He still feels intense and heady from the tequila, and he loves that all of his senses are full of Louis right now. He wants to suck Louis’ cock, and he murmurs this to him sweetly as he kisses his neck.

“Good,” Louis eggs him on. “Get in me an’ then suck me off...”

Liam shoves his pinky into Louis as well, and they both seem to be surprised by this. They gaze at each other rapturously as Liam thrusts most of his hand into Louis, still sweating like maniacs, overwhelmed by each other in their little bubble of togetherness. Liam feels like he's on the precipice of something entirely new. He feels such a strong bond with Louis in this moment; he feels if anyone tried to separate them right now he would fight it tooth and nail.

“Fuck me,” Louis finally says, his lovely wicked little mouth parting to release the words Liam hadn't even realized he'd been dying to hear. His fringe is dark with sweat and askew across his forehead; there's a flush of exertion and arousal high in his lovely cheeks.

Liam thinks he's hardly ever wanted to fuck someone more, and then Louis flashes him a conspiratorial grin and rolls onto his stomach, bracing himself on his knees and elbows and spreading his legs for him.

“Fuck,” Liam breathes.

“Easier this way,” Louis murmurs. “Go on.”

Liam slides into him and begins to thrust. It's difficult; he's very hard, and Louis is still quite tight. He keeps sliding out, to his great frustration. Louis lets out little whines of pain and pleasure that are hard to distinguish from each other, so he stops only to be snapped at to keep going.

Finally Louis rolls onto his back again. “If you're going to keep slippin’ out, at least let's look at each other while you do it,” he sasses, propped up on his elbows.

“It isn't my fault,” Liam defends himself as he pours more lube onto his hand and slicks himself up a fourth time.

“Yes it is,” Louis says, lying back against the bed. He spreads his tattooed arms and looks up at Liam with a mix of desire and annoyance. “You're too big for me.”

“Not my fault, lad,” Liam says with a laugh, laying down over top of him as he guides himself in again. “I think we've had too much to drink, honestly.”

Louis kisses him, and then lies back. He lets out a soft moan as Liam hits the good spot in him, and Liam does his best to recreate that thrust. He likes watching Louis as he fucks him, likes seeing his face change.

“I wanted to take all of you,” Louis says after a moment.

“You are,” Liam says, kissing the center of his chest and then moving to kiss his nipple. “This is all of me.”

“But like,” Louis says, dragging his sharp short nails up the centre of Liam's back and then grabbing at the back of his neck. “ _Deep_ , like.”

He really gets going, then, grunting shamelessly as he pounds into Louis and Louis rolls his hips up off the bed, moaning louder. The mattress hits up against the headboard in time with his thrusts. Liam is surprised by how intensely vocal Louis is, but then thinks he shouldn’t be surprised by that at all.

The harder Liam fucks him, the more difficult it is to stay in him, until he’s right up at the edge of coming and he slides out again, abandons his efforts and just leans over Louis, fucking himself in his hand until he comes all over the bed and Louis’ stomach. Louis pants under him, red-faced and breathless.

“Oh, cheers,” Louis says, chuckling as he smudges a thumb through the pearly-white sheen over his hipbone.

“Sorry,” Liam says genuinely, then leans over him and takes his cock deep in his mouth.

In just a week and a half he’s grown to love sucking Louis’ cock. He loves the sharp, pungent scent of him, and the heft of a willy in his mouth. He loves feeling like he’s doing something taboo and naughty. He loves feeling and tasting how much Louis wants him, especially when Louis is liked this, all fucked out by him and horny and pleading with Liam for more, more, more.

Liam takes him as deep as he possibly can, feeling like it’s proper penance for Louis letting him hit. Louis’ tip tickles the back of his throat and his spent, limp cock twitches in response. Liam loves knowing he’s taken Louis deep. It makes him feel like he’s a good boy, which is all he really wants.

“Fuck, fuck -- I’m there,” Louis sighs, his hands clenching in the sheets and then relaxing as he comes into Liam’s mouth. Liam chokes on the hot, bitter taste, and then draws himself up and swallows.

Louis watches him with a pleased expression. “I love that you swallow,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough from orgasm.

Liam kisses him, making him taste his own semen. Louis doesn’t ever seem to mind that. He sucks at Liam’s lips and runs his hands through his hair again. Liam reaches an arm under Louis’ back and pulls them flush together. They lie there in a spot that’s wet from Liam’s come and spilled lube, until Liam slides them together up the bed, against the pillows.

He’s exhausted and a bit sleepy, and he lies over top of Louis, arm across his chest and forehead resting across his bicep. Louis idly continues to play with his hair as they both catch their breath.

“I can’t believe I was inside you,” Liam says, awe in his voice.

“I know,” Louis says hoarsely. “S’not… _too_ weird, is it?”

“If this whole thing wasn’t weird before, we passed the point of no return tonight,” Liam says, and they both laugh. Louis smooths Liam’s hair back from his forehead.

“That was nice,” Louis confesses. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be into it…”

“You seemed quite into it,” Liam says, hopefully. Louis cracks a grin and laughs.

“Not so loud,” Louis chides im. “All of Mexico’s going to think I’m some massive cockmonger.”

“If they didn’t all already hear you moaning...”

“If they didn’t hear me moanin’, yeah.”

They’re silent for a minute or so, their breathing slowly evening out, suddenly lazy and listless in the heat and the wake of their orgasms.

“You’re quite bossy,” Liam remarks. “I’ve never been with someone that bossy about it before.”

“Oh, you should have known, Payno.”

“I hadn’t let myself imagine that, actually,” Liam admits. “Not full-on.”

Louis stills. “Did you think about it?”

“What, being in you? A bit. In the broader context of thinking about your arse.”

Louis laughs.

“I thought about it,” he says softly. Liam relishes the sound of his voice in this moment. “Remember at the gym the other week? I kept thinkin’ about it…”

“Wow, that explains why you were acting absolutely barmy the entire time.”

“I could not get my shit together that day,” Louis says, laughing. “I had the most massive horn on, I was _dying_. And then you went an’ like, grabbed my thigh!”

Liam’s cheeks get hot and he winces. “I kept upping the ante,” he admits. “I thought you would do something! I kept thinking, okay, he _must_ know what’s going on here. I thought I’d gone crazy!”

“I knew, I knew,” Louis crows. “I just had to get a plan in order, alright? I had to be the man with the plan.”

“Thank God,” Liam says. “And what would I do without my man with the plan?”

“Stand around speechless, grabbin’ people’s thighs, apparently.”

“Was I supposed to grab your _willy_? I was driving the car!”

Louis laughs and laughs. “Right,” he finally says. “So, can we take a shower? Because I’ve just realized there’s lube, like… I’ll spare you the details for the sake of romance, but --”

“Ohh,” Liam says, and sits up quickly. “Sorry, lad.”

“‘S fine,” Louis says, sitting up as well. “I’m just glad you didn’t come in me.”

Still a bit tipsy, they stumble heavy-limbed to the bathroom and get into the shower. Louis presses him to the wall to snog him and Liam sweeps his hands over the sharp angles of his shoulderblades to the gentler curves and planes of his back and hips.

“D’you think…” Louis bites his lip and then draws back so he can look at him. Liam's got his arms wrapped around him, cupping his arse, and he's gazing at him. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes.

“ _Are_ we doin’ something stupid, here?” Louis says very quietly.

Liam leans in and kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. “No,” he says vehemently.

Louis stares at him, like he's processing something. “Take me to bed,” he says.

Liam complies, shutting off the water and toweling him off, leading him through the bedroom and back toward the big circular bed with the ceiling to floor window that shows them the beauty of Mexico City and the mountains that overlook it. Liam knows Louis likes to see out of windows, so he gets them comfortable on the side of the bed that faces it and spoons him. He cuddles Louis like he's been doing for a while now, like he did in the days after El, and after Zayn, for a long time after both of them.

Louis thinks too much. He's wickedly smart, and his thoughts go a mile a minute, and sometimes he needs Liam -- steadier, slower Liam -- to smother those thoughts out of him, to soothe him, smooth his worried brow and quiet the beasts in him.

“No,” Liam whispers to him, again, right in his ear as they're dozing off.

Louis gives a little sigh.

Liam kisses him on the shoulder.

 

/

 

“Tommo, you pull last night?” Niall says as they're standing around on the hot tarmac, waiting for their planes.

Louis looks at him sharply, but disguises his alarm well. Liam feels his palms start to sweat.

Harry isn't even paying attention. He's standing off to the side, fiddling with a latch on his LV carry-on.

“You've got a hickey,” Niall points out.

Louis touches his neck. Liam winces slightly; from the glint that appears in Louis’ eye, he can already tell he’s going to get hell for that later.

“An’ one of security said they heard someone on our floor gettin’ it, last night,” Niall says, all sunny and lighthearted.

Louis gives a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. “Guilty,” he says. He obviously can't deny it.

“Fan or local?”

“Might have been a fan, dunno,” Louis says. “Just ran into her at the bar.”

Liam shifts his weight from foot to foot. A hot breeze whips his shirttails.

“Did you go out together?” Niall says, studying Liam in a canny way Liam doesn't like.

Liam nods. “But I’m not quite feeling up to pulling, yet,” he lies.

“Understand,” Niall says. “Hasn't been too long.”

Liam's heart squeezes sickly in his chest. Louis looks down guiltily. A muscle flutters in his jaw.

“Louis, you ought to settle down again,” Niall says. “Find a steady.”

Harry comes back over to them and squints at no one in particular. The cross on his neck gleams in the hot sun.

“Yeah,” Louis says, laughing. “I'll get on it.”

Liam slides his hands in his pockets. Louis shoots him a commiserating look, and he gives him a small, terse smile back. 

 

 


End file.
